Great Expectations

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out, the fire was dead, and the wind and rain intensified the thickblack darkness.

THIS IS THE END OF THE SECOND STAGE OF PIP'S EXPECTATIONS.

Chapter XL

It was fortunate for me that I had to take precautions to ensure(so far as I could) the safety of my dreaded visitor; for, thisthought pressing on me when I awoke, held other thoughts in aconfused concourse at a distance.

The impossibility of keeping him concealed in the chambers wasself-evident. It could not be done, and the attempt to do it wouldinevitably engender suspicion. True, I had no Avenger in my servicenow, but I was looked after by an inflammatory old female, assistedby an animated rag-bag whom she called her niece, and to keep aroom secret from them would be to invite curiosity andexaggeration. They both had weak eyes, which I had long attributedto their chronically looking in at keyholes, and they were alwaysat hand when not wanted; indeed that was their only reliablequality besides larceny. Not to get up a mystery with these people,I resolved to announce in the morning that my uncle hadunexpectedly come from the country.

This course I decided on while I was yet groping about in thedarkness for the means of getting a light. Not stumbling on themeans after all, I was fain to go out to the adjacent Lodge and getthe watchman there to come with his lantern. Now, in groping my waydown the black staircase I fell over something, and that somethingwas a man crouching in a corner.

As the man made no answer when I asked him what he did there, buteluded my touch in silence, I ran to the Lodge and urged thewatchman to come quickly; telling him of the incident on the wayback. The wind being as fierce as ever, we did not care to endangerthe light in the lantern by rekindling the extinguished lamps onthe staircase, but we examined the staircase from the bottom to thetop and found no one there. It then occurred to me as possible thatthe man might have slipped into my rooms; so, lighting my candle atthe watchman's, and leaving him standing at the door, I examinedthem carefully, including the room in which my dreaded guest layasleep. All was quiet, and assuredly no other man was in thosechambers.

It troubled me that there should have been a lurker on the stairs,on that night of all nights in the year, and I asked the watchman,on the chance of eliciting some hopeful explanation as I handed hima dram at the door, whether he had admitted at his gate anygentleman who had perceptibly been dining out? Yes, he said; atdifferent times of the night, three. One lived in Fountain Court,and the other two lived in the Lane, and he had seen them all gohome. Again, the only other man who dwelt in the house of which mychambers formed a part had been in the country for some weeks, andhe certainly had not returned in the night, because we had seen hisdoor with his seal on it as we came up-stairs.

"The night being so bad, sir," said the watchman, as he gave meback my glass, "uncommon few have come in at my gate. Besides themthree gentlemen that I have named, I don't call to mind anothersince about eleven o'clock, when a stranger asked for you."

"My uncle," I muttered. "Yes."

"You saw him, sir?"

"Yes. Oh yes."

"Likewise the person with him?"

"Person with him!" I repeated.

"I judged the person to be with him," returned the watchman. "Theperson stopped, when he stopped to make inquiry of me, and theperson took this way when he took this way."

"What sort of person?"

The watchman had not particularly noticed; he should say a workingperson; to the best of his belief, he had a dust-colored kind ofclothes on, under a dark coat. The watchman made more light of thematter than I did, and naturally; not having my reason forattaching weight to it.

When I had got rid of him, which I thought it well to do withoutprolonging explanations, my mind was much troubled by these twocircumstances taken together. Whereas they were easy of innocentsolution apart,--as, for instance, some diner out or diner at home,who had not gone near this watchman's gate, might have strayed tomy staircase and dropped asleep there,--and my nameless visitormight have brought some one with him to show him the way,--still,joined, they had an ugly look to one as prone to distrust and fearas the changes of a few hours had made me.

I lighted my fire, which burnt with a raw pale flare at that timeof the morning, and fell into a doze before it. I seemed to havebeen dozing a whole night when the clocks struck six. As there wasfull an hour and a half between me and daylight, I dozed again;now, waking up uneasily, with prolix conversations about nothing,in my ears; now, making thunder of the wind in the chimney; atlength, falling off into a profound sleep from which the daylightwoke me with a start.

All this time I had never been able to consider my own situation,nor could I do so yet. I had not the power to attend to it. I wasgreatly dejected and distressed, but in an incoherent wholesalesort of way. As to forming any plan for the future, I could as soonhave formed an elephant. When I opened the shutters and looked outat the wet wild morning, all of a leaden hue; when I walked fromroom to room; when I sat down again shivering, before the fire,waiting for my laundress to appear; I thought how miserable I was,but hardly knew why, or how long I had been so, or on what day ofthe week I made the reflection, or even who I was that made it.

At last, the old woman and the niece came in,--the latter with ahead not easily distinguishable from her dusty broom,--andtestified surprise at sight of me and the fire. To whom I impartedhow my uncle had come in the night and was then asleep, and how thebreakfast preparations were to be modified accordingly. Then Iwashed and dressed while they knocked the furniture about and madea dust; and so, in a sort of dream or sleep-waking, I found myselfsitting by the fire again, waiting for-Him--to come tobreakfast.

By and by, his door opened and he came out. I could not bringmyself to bear the sight of him, and I thought he had a worse lookby daylight.

"I do not even know," said I, speaking low as he took his seat atthe table, "by what name to call you. I have given out that you aremy uncle."

He answered quite seriously, and used the word as if it denotedsome profession.

"When you came into the Temple last night--" said I, pausing towonder whether that could really have been last night, which seemedso long ago.

"Yes, dear boy?"

"When you came in at the gate and asked the watchman the way here,had you any one with you?"

"With me? No, dear boy."

"But there was some one there?"

"I didn't take particular notice," he said, dubiously, "not knowingthe ways of the place. But I think there was a person, too, come inalonger me."

"Are you known in London?"

"I hope not!" said he, giving his neck a jerk with his forefingerthat made me turn hot and sick.

"Were you known in London, once?"

"Not over and above, dear boy. I was in the provinces mostly."

"Were you-tried--in London?"

"Which time?" said he, with a sharp look.

"The last time."

He nodded. "First knowed Mr. Jaggers that way. Jaggers was for me."

It was on my lips to ask him what he was tried for, but he took upa knife, gave it a flourish, and with the words, "And what I doneis worked out and paid for!" fell to at his breakfast.

He ate in a ravenous way that was very disagreeable, and all hisactions were uncouth, noisy, and greedy. Some of his teeth hadfailed him since I saw him eat on the marshes, and as he turned hisfood in his mouth, and turned his head sideways to bring hisstrongest fangs to bear upon it, he looked terribly like a hungry olddog. If I had begun with any appetite, he would have taken it away,and I should have sat much as I did,--repelled from him by aninsurmountable aversion, and gloomily looking at the cloth.

"I'm a heavy grubber, dear boy," he said, as a polite kind ofapology when he made an end of his meal, "but I always was. If ithad been in my constitution to be a lighter grubber, I might ha'got into lighter trouble. Similarly, I must have my smoke. When Iwas first hired out as shepherd t'other side the world, it's mybelief I should ha' turned into a molloncolly-mad sheep myself, ifI hadn't a had my smoke."

As he said so, he got up from table, and putting his hand into thebreast of the pea-coat he wore, brought out a short black pipe, anda handful of loose tobacco of the kind that is called Negro-head.Having filled his pipe, he put the surplus tobacco back again, asif his pocket were a drawer. Then, he took a live coal from thefire with the tongs, and lighted his pipe at it, and then turnedround on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and went throughhis favorite action of holding out both his hands for mine.

"And this," said he, dandling my hands up and down in his, as hepuffed at his pipe,--"and this is the gentleman what I made! Thereal genuine One! It does me good fur to look at you, Pip. All Istip'late, is, to stand by and look at you, dear boy!"

I released my hands as soon as I could, and found that I wasbeginning slowly to settle down to the contemplation of mycondition. What I was chained to, and how heavily, becameintelligible to me, as I heard his hoarse voice, and sat looking upat his furrowed bald head with its iron gray hair at the sides.

"I mustn't see my gentleman a footing it in the mire of thestreets; there mustn't be no mud on his boots. My gentleman musthave horses, Pip! Horses to ride, and horses to drive, and horsesfor his servant to ride and drive as well. Shall colonists havetheir horses (and blood 'uns, if you please, good Lord!) and not myLondon gentleman? No, no. We'll show 'em another pair of shoes thanthat, Pip; won't us?"

He took out of his pocket a great thick pocket-book, bursting withpapers, and tossed it on the table.

"There's something worth spending in that there book, dear boy.It's yourn. All I've got ain't mine; it's yourn. Don't you beafeerd on it. There's more where that come from. I've come to theold country fur to see my gentleman spend his money like agentleman. That'll be my pleasure. My pleasure 'ull be fur to seehim do it. And blast you all!" he wound up, looking round the roomand snapping his fingers once with a loud snap, "blast you everyone, from the judge in his wig, to the colonist a stirring up thedust, I'll show a better gentleman than the whole kit on you puttogether!"

"Stop!" said I, almost in a frenzy of fear and dislike, "I want tospeak to you. I want to know what is to be done. I want to know howyou are to be kept out of danger, how long you are going to stay,what projects you have."

"Look'ee here, Pip," said he, laying his hand on my arm in asuddenly altered and subdued manner; "first of all, look'ee here. Iforgot myself half a minute ago. What I said was low; that's whatit was; low. Look'ee here, Pip. Look over it. I ain't a going to below."

"First," I resumed, half groaning, "what precautions can be takenagainst your being recognized and seized?"

"No, dear boy," he said, in the same tone as before, "that don't gofirst. Lowness goes first. I ain't took so many year to make agentleman, not without knowing what's due to him. Look'ee here,Pip. I was low; that's what I was; low. Look over it, dear boy."

Some sense of the grimly-ludicrous moved me to a fretful laugh, asI replied, "I have looked over it. In Heaven's name, don't harpupon it!"

"Yes, but look'ee here," he persisted. "Dear boy, I ain't come sofur, not fur to be low. Now, go on, dear boy. You was a saying--"

"How are you to be guarded from the danger you have incurred?"

"Well, dear boy, the danger ain't so great. Without I was informedagen, the danger ain't so much to signify. There's Jaggers, andthere's Wemmick, and there's you. Who else is there to inform?"

"Is there no chance person who might identify you in the street?"said I.

"Well," he returned, "there ain't many. Nor yet I don't intend toadvertise myself in the newspapers by the name of A.M. come backfrom Botany Bay; and years have rolled away, and who's to gain byit? Still, look'ee here, Pip. If the danger had been fifty times asgreat, I should ha' come to see you, mind you, just the same."

"And how long do you remain?"

"How long?" said he, taking his black pipe from his mouth, anddropping his jaw as he stared at me. "I'm not a going back. I'vecome for good."

"Where are you to live?" said I. "What is to be done with you?Where will you be safe?"

"Dear boy," he returned, "there's disguising wigs can be bought formoney, and there's hair powder, and spectacles, and black clothes,--shorts and what not. Others has done it safe afore, and what othershas done afore, others can do agen. As to the where and how ofliving, dear boy, give me your own opinions on it."

"You take it smoothly now," said I, "but you were very serious lastnight, when you swore it was Death."

"And so I swear it is Death," said he, putting his pipe back in hismouth, "and Death by the rope, in the open street not fur fromthis, and it's serious that you should fully understand it to beso. What then, when that's once done? Here I am. To go back now'ud be as bad as to stand ground--worse. Besides, Pip, I'm here,because I've meant it by you, years and years. As to what I dare,I'm a old bird now, as has dared all manner of traps since first hewas fledged, and I'm not afeerd to perch upon a scarecrow. Ifthere's Death hid inside of it, there is, and let him come out, andI'll face him, and then I'll believe in him and not afore. And nowlet me have a look at my gentleman agen."

Once more, he took me by both hands and surveyed me with an air ofadmiring proprietorship: smoking with great complacency all thewhile.

It appeared to me that I could do no better than secure him somequiet lodging hard by, of which he might take possession whenHerbert returned: whom I expected in two or three days. That thesecret must be confided to Herbert as a matter of unavoidablenecessity, even if I could have put the immense relief I shouldderive from sharing it with him out of the question, was plain tome. But it was by no means so plain to Mr. Provis (I resolved tocall him by that name), who reserved his consent to Herbert'sparticipation until he should have seen him and formed a favorablejudgment of his physiognomy. "And even then, dear boy," said he,pulling a greasy little clasped black Testament out of his pocket,"we'll have him on his oath."

To state that my terrible patron carried this little black bookabout the world solely to swear people on in cases of emergency,would be to state what I never quite established; but this I cansay, that I never knew him put it to any other use. The book itselfhad the appearance of having been stolen from some court ofjustice, and perhaps his knowledge of its antecedents, combinedwith his own experience in that wise, gave him a reliance on itspowers as a sort of legal spell or charm. On this first occasion ofhis producing it, I recalled how he had made me swear fidelity inthe churchyard long ago, and how he had described himself lastnight as always swearing to his resolutions in his solitude.

As he was at present dressed in a seafaring slop suit, in which helooked as if he had some parrots and cigars to dispose of, I nextdiscussed with him what dress he should wear. He cherished anextraordinary belief in the virtues of "shorts" as a disguise, andhad in his own mind sketched a dress for himself that would havemade him something between a dean and a dentist. It was withconsiderable difficulty that I won him over to the assumption of adress more like a prosperous farmer's; and we arranged that heshould cut his hair close, and wear a little powder. Lastly, as hehad not yet been seen by the laundress or her niece, he was to keephimself out of their view until his change of dress was made.

It would seem a simple matter to decide on these precautions; butin my dazed, not to say distracted, state, it took so long, that Idid not get out to further them until two or three in theafternoon. He was to remain shut up in the chambers while I wasgone, and was on no account to open the door.

There being to my knowledge a respectable lodging-house inEssex Street, the back of which looked into the Temple, and wasalmost within hail of my windows, I first of all repaired to thathouse, and was so fortunate as to secure the second floor for myuncle, Mr. Provis. I then went from shop to shop, making suchpurchases as were necessary to the change in his appearance. Thisbusiness transacted, I turned my face, on my own account, to LittleBritain. Mr. Jaggers was at his desk, but, seeing me enter, got upimmediately and stood before his fire.

"Now, Pip," said he, "be careful."

"I will, sir," I returned. For, coming along I had thought well ofwhat I was going to say.

"I merely want, Mr. Jaggers," said I, "to assure myself that what Ihave been told is true. I have no hope of its being untrue, but atleast I may verify it."

Mr. Jaggers nodded. "But did you say 'told' or 'informed'?" he askedme, with his head on one side, and not looking at me, but lookingin a listening way at the floor. "Told would seem to imply verbalcommunication. You can't have verbal communication with a man inNew South Wales, you know."

"I will say, informed, Mr. Jaggers."

"Good."

"I have been informed by a person named Abel Magwitch, that he isthe benefactor so long unknown to me."

"That is the man," said Mr. Jaggers, "in New South Wales."

"And only he?" said I.

"And only he," said Mr. Jaggers.

"I am not so unreasonable, sir, as to think you at all responsiblefor my mistakes and wrong conclusions; but I always supposed it wasMiss Havisham."

"As you say, Pip," returned Mr. Jaggers, turning his eyes upon mecoolly, and taking a bite at his forefinger, "I am not at allresponsible for that."

"And yet it looked so like it, sir," I pleaded with a downcastheart.

"Not a particle of evidence, Pip," said Mr. Jaggers, shaking hishead and gathering up his skirts. "Take nothing on its looks; takeeverything on evidence. There's no better rule."

"I have no more to say," said I, with a sigh, after standing silentfor a little while. "I have verified my information, and there's anend."

"And Magwitch--in New South Wales--having at last disclosedhimself," said Mr. Jaggers, "you will comprehend, Pip, how rigidlythroughout my communication with you, I have always adhered to thestrict line of fact. There has never been the least departure fromthe strict line of fact. You are quite aware of that?"

"Quite, sir."

"I communicated to Magwitch--in New South Wales--when he firstwrote to me--from New South Wales--the caution that he must notexpect me ever to deviate from the strict line of fact. I alsocommunicated to him another caution. He appeared to me to haveobscurely hinted in his letter at some distant idea he had ofseeing you in England here. I cautioned him that I must hear nomore of that; that he was not at all likely to obtain a pardon;that he was expatriated for the term of his natural life; and thathis presenting himself in this country would be an act of felony,rendering him liable to the extreme penalty of the law. I gaveMagwitch that caution," said Mr. Jaggers, looking hard at me; "Iwrote it to New South Wales. He guided himself by it, no doubt."

"No doubt," said I.

"I have been informed by Wemmick," pursued Mr. Jaggers, stilllooking hard at me, "that he has received a letter, under datePortsmouth, from a colonist of the name of Purvis, or--"

"You know it's Provis. A letter, under date Portsmouth, from acolonist of the name of Provis, asking for the particulars of youraddress, on behalf of Magwitch. Wemmick sent him the particulars, Iunderstand, by return of post. Probably it is through Provis thatyou have received the explanation of Magwitch--in New SouthWales?"

"It came through Provis," I replied.

"Good day, Pip," said Mr. Jaggers, offering his hand; "glad to haveseen you. In writing by post to Magwitch--in New South Wales--orin communicating with him through Provis, have the goodness tomention that the particulars and vouchers of our long account shallbe sent to you, together with the balance; for there is still abalance remaining. Good day, Pip!"

We shook hands, and he looked hard at me as long as he could seeme. I turned at the door, and he was still looking hard at me,while the two vile casts on the shelf seemed to be trying to gettheir eyelids open, and to force out of their swollen throats, "O,what a man he is!"

Wemmick was out, and though he had been at his desk he could havedone nothing for me. I went straight back to the Temple, where Ifound the terrible Provis drinking rum and water and smokingnegro-head, in safety.

Next day the clothes I had ordered all came home, and he put themon. Whatever he put on, became him less (it dismally seemed to me)than what he had worn before. To my thinking, there was somethingin him that made it hopeless to attempt to disguise him. The more Idressed him and the better I dressed him, the more he looked likethe slouching fugitive on the marshes. This effect on my anxiousfancy was partly referable, no doubt, to his old face and mannergrowing more familiar to me; but I believe too that he dragged oneof his legs as if there were still a weight of iron on it, and thatfrom head to foot there was Convict in the very grain of the man.

The influences of his solitary hut-life were upon him besides, andgave him a savage air that no dress could tame; added to thesewere the influences of his subsequent branded life among men, and,crowning all, his consciousness that he was dodging and hiding now.In all his ways of sitting and standing, and eating and drinking,--of brooding about in a high-shouldered reluctant style,--of takingout his great horn-handled jackknife and wiping it on his legs andcutting his food,--of lifting light glasses and cups to his lips,as if they were clumsy pannikins,--of chopping a wedge off hisbread, and soaking up with it the last fragments of gravy round andround his plate, as if to make the most of an allowance, and thendrying his finger-ends on it, and then swallowing it,--in theseways and a thousand other small nameless instances arising everyminute in the day, there was Prisoner, Felon, Bondsman, plain asplain could be.

It had been his own idea to wear that touch of powder, and I hadconceded the powder after overcoming the shorts. But I can comparethe effect of it, when on, to nothing but the probable effect ofrouge upon the dead; so awful was the manner in which everything inhim that it was most desirable to repress, started through thatthin layer of pretence, and seemed to come blazing out at the crownof his head. It was abandoned as soon as tried, and he wore hisgrizzled hair cut short.

Words cannot tell what a sense I had, at the same time, of thedreadful mystery that he was to me. When he fell asleep of anevening, with his knotted hands clenching the sides of theeasy-chair, and his bald head tattooed with deep wrinkles fallingforward on his breast, I would sit and look at him, wondering whathe had done, and loading him with all the crimes in the Calendar,until the impulse was powerful on me to start up and fly from him.Every hour so increased my abhorrence of him, that I even think Imight have yielded to this impulse in the first agonies of being sohaunted, notwithstanding all he had done for me and the risk heran, but for the knowledge that Herbert must soon come back. Once,I actually did start out of bed in the night, and begin to dressmyself in my worst clothes, hurriedly intending to leave him therewith everything else I possessed, and enlist for India as a privatesoldier.

I doubt if a ghost could have been more terrible to me, up in thoselonely rooms in the long evenings and long nights, with the windand the rain always rushing by. A ghost could not have been takenand hanged on my account, and the consideration that he could be,and the dread that he would be, were no small addition to myhorrors. When he was not asleep, or playing a complicated kind ofPatience with a ragged pack of cards of his own,--a game that Inever saw before or since, and in which he recorded his winnings bysticking his jackknife into the table,--when he was not engaged ineither of these pursuits, he would ask me to read to him,--"Foreignlanguage, dear boy!" While I complied, he, not comprehending asingle word, would stand before the fire surveying me with the airof an Exhibitor, and I would see him, between the fingers of thehand with which I shaded my face, appealing in dumb show to thefurniture to take notice of my proficiency. The imaginary studentpursued by the misshapen creature he had impiously made, was notmore wretched than I, pursued by the creature who had made me, andrecoiling from him with a stronger repulsion, the more he admiredme and the fonder he was of me.

This is written of, I am sensible, as if it had lasted a year. Itlasted about five days. Expecting Herbert all the time, I dared notgo out, except when I took Provis for an airing after dark. Atlength, one evening when dinner was over and I had dropped into aslumber quite worn out,--for my nights had been agitated and myrest broken by fearful dreams,--I was roused by the welcomefootstep on the staircase. Provis, who had been asleep too,staggered up at the noise I made, and in an instant I saw hisjackknife shining in his hand.

"Quiet! It's Herbert!" I said; and Herbert came bursting in, withthe airy freshness of six hundred miles of France upon him.

"Handel, my dear fellow, how are you, and again how are you, andagain how are you? I seem to have been gone a twelvemonth! Why, so Imust have been, for you have grown quite thin and pale! Handel, my--Halloa! I beg your pardon."

He was stopped in his running on and in his shaking hands with me,by seeing Provis. Provis, regarding him with a fixed attention, wasslowly putting up his jackknife, and groping in another pocket forsomething else.

"It's all right, dear boy!" said Provis coming forward, with hislittle clasped black book, and then addressing himself to Herbert."Take it in your right hand. Lord strike you dead on the spot, ifever you split in any way sumever! Kiss it!"

"Do so, as he wishes it," I said to Herbert. So, Herbert, lookingat me with a friendly uneasiness and amazement, complied, andProvis immediately shaking hands with him, said, "Now you're onyour oath, you know. And never believe me on mine, if Pip shan'tmake a gentleman on you!"

Chapter XLI

In vain should I attempt to describe the astonishment and disquietof Herbert, when he and I and Provis sat down before the fire, andI recounted the whole of the secret. Enough, that I saw my ownfeelings reflected in Herbert's face, and not least among them, myrepugnance towards the man who had done so much for me.

What would alone have set a division between that man and us, ifthere had been no other dividing circumstance, was his triumph inmy story. Saving his troublesome sense of having been "low' on oneoccasion since his return,--on which point he began to hold forthto Herbert, the moment my revelation was finished,--he had noperception of the possibility of my finding any fault with my goodfortune. His boast that he had made me a gentleman, and that he hadcome to see me support the character on his ample resources, wasmade for me quite as much as for himself. And that it was a highlyagreeable boast to both of us, and that we must both be very proudof it, was a conclusion quite established in his own mind.

"Though, look'ee here, Pip's comrade," he said to Herbert, afterhaving discoursed for some time, "I know very well that once sinceI come back--for half a minute--I've been low. I said to Pip, Iknowed as I had been low. But don't you fret yourself on thatscore. I ain't made Pip a gentleman, and Pip ain't a going to makeyou a gentleman, not fur me not to know what's due to ye both. Dearboy, and Pip's comrade, you two may count upon me always having agen-teel muzzle on. Muzzled I have been since that half a minutewhen I was betrayed into lowness, muzzled I am at the present time,muzzled I ever will be."

Herbert said, "Certainly," but looked as if there were no specificconsolation in this, and remained perplexed and dismayed. We wereanxious for the time when he would go to his lodging and leave ustogether, but he was evidently jealous of leaving us together, andsat late. It was midnight before I took him round to Essex Street,and saw him safely in at his own dark door. When it closed uponhim, I experienced the first moment of relief I had known since thenight of his arrival.

Never quite free from an uneasy remembrance of the man on thestairs, I had always looked about me in taking my guest out afterdark, and in bringing him back; and I looked about me now.Difficult as it is in a large city to avoid the suspicion of beingwatched, when the mind is conscious of danger in that regard, Icould not persuade myself that any of the people within sight caredabout my movements. The few who were passing passed on theirseveral ways, and the street was empty when I turned back into theTemple. Nobody had come out at the gate with us, nobody went in atthe gate with me. As I crossed by the fountain, I saw his lightedback windows looking bright and quiet, and, when I stood for a fewmoments in the doorway of the building where I lived, before goingup the stairs, Garden Court was as still and lifeless as thestaircase was when I ascended it.

Herbert received me with open arms, and I had never felt before soblessedly what it is to have a friend. When he had spoken somesound words of sympathy and encouragement, we sat down to considerthe question, What was to be done?

The chair that Provis had occupied still remaining where it hadStood,--for he had a barrack way with him of hanging about onespot, in one unsettled manner, and going through one round ofobservances with his pipe and his negro-head and his jackknife andhis pack of cards, and what not, as if it were all put down for himon a slate,--I say his chair remaining where it had stood, Herbertunconsciously took it, but next moment started out of it, pushed itaway, and took another. He had no occasion to say after that thathe had conceived an aversion for my patron, neither had I occasionto confess my own. We interchanged that confidence without shapinga syllable.

"What," said I to Herbert, when he was safe in another chair,--"whatis to be done?"

"So was I, Herbert, when the blow first fell. Still, something mustbe done. He is intent upon various new expenses,--horses, andcarriages, and lavish appearances of all kinds. He must be stoppedsomehow."

"You mean that you can't accept--"

"How can I?" I interposed, as Herbert paused. "Think of him! Look athim!"

An involuntary shudder passed over both of us.

"Yet I am afraid the dreadful truth is, Herbert, that he isattached to me, strongly attached to me. Was there ever such afate!"

"My poor dear Handel," Herbert repeated.

"Then," said I, "after all, stopping short here, never takinganother penny from him, think what I owe him already! Then again: Iam heavily in debt,--very heavily for me, who have now noexpectations,--and I have been bred to no calling, and I am fit fornothing."

"Well, well, well!" Herbert remonstrated. "Don't say fit fornothing."

"What am I fit for? I know only one thing that I am fit for, andthat is, to go for a soldier. And I might have gone, my dearHerbert, but for the prospect of taking counsel with yourfriendship and affection."

Of course I broke down there: and of course Herbert, beyond seizinga warm grip of my hand, pretended not to know it.

"Anyhow, my dear Handel," said he presently, "soldiering won't do.If you were to renounce this patronage and these favors, I supposeyou would do so with some faint hope of one day repaying what youhave already had. Not very strong, that hope, if you wentsoldiering! Besides, it's absurd. You would be infinitely better inClarriker's house, small as it is. I am working up towards apartnership, you know."

Poor fellow! He little suspected with whose money.

"But there is another question," said Herbert. "This is an ignorant,determined man, who has long had one fixed idea. More than that, heseems to me (I may misjudge him) to be a man of a desperate andfierce character."

"I know he is," I returned. "Let me tell you what evidence I haveseen of it." And I told him what I had not mentioned in mynarrative, of that encounter with the other convict.

"See, then," said Herbert; "think of this! He comes here at theperil of his life, for the realization of his fixed idea. In themoment of realization, after all his toil and waiting, you cut theground from under his feet, destroy his idea, and make his gainsworthless to him. Do you see nothing that he might do, under thedisappointment?"

"I have seen it, Herbert, and dreamed of it, ever since the fatalnight of his arrival. Nothing has been in my thoughts sodistinctly as his putting himself in the way of being taken."

"Then you may rely upon it," said Herbert, "that there would begreat danger of his doing it. That is his power over you as long ashe remains in England, and that would be his reckless course if youforsook him."

I was so struck by the horror of this idea, which had weighed uponme from the first, and the working out of which would make meregard myself, in some sort, as his murderer, that I could not restin my chair, but began pacing to and fro. I said to Herbert,meanwhile, that even if Provis were recognized and taken, in spiteof himself, I should be wretched as the cause, however innocently.Yes; even though I was so wretched in having him at large and nearme, and even though I would far rather have worked at the forgeall the days of my life than I would ever have come to this!

But there was no staving off the question, What was to be done?

"The first and the main thing to be done," said Herbert, "is to gethim out of England. You will have to go with him, and then he maybe induced to go."

"But get him where I will, could I prevent his coming back?"

"My good Handel, is it not obvious that with Newgate in the nextstreet, there must be far greater hazard in your breaking your mindto him and making him reckless, here, than elsewhere. If a pretextto get him away could be made out of that other convict, or out ofanything else in his life, now."

"There, again!" said I, stopping before Herbert, with my open handsheld out, as if they contained the desperation of the case. "I knownothing of his life. It has almost made me mad to sit here of anight and see him before me, so bound up with my fortunes andmisfortunes, and yet so unknown to me, except as the miserablewretch who terrified me two days in my childhood!"

Herbert got up, and linked his arm in mine, and we slowly walked toand fro together, studying the carpet.

"Handel," said Herbert, stopping, "you feel convinced that you cantake no further benefits from him; do you?"

"Fully. Surely you would, too, if you were in my place?"

"And you feel convinced that you must break with him?"

"Herbert, can you ask me?"

"And you have, and are bound to have, that tenderness for the lifehe has risked on your account, that you must save him, if possible,from throwing it away. Then you must get him out of England beforeyou stir a finger to extricate yourself. That done, extricateyourself, in Heaven's name, and we'll see it out together, dear oldboy."

It was a comfort to shake hands upon it, and walk up and downagain, with only that done.

"Now, Herbert," said I, "with reference to gaining some knowledgeof his history. There is but one way that I know of. I must ask himpoint blank."

"Yes. Ask him," said Herbert, "when we sit at breakfast in themorning." For he had said, on taking leave of Herbert, that hewould come to breakfast with us.

With this project formed, we went to bed. I had the wildest dreamsconcerning him, and woke unrefreshed; I woke, too, to recover thefear which I had lost in the night, of his being found out as areturned transport. Waking, I never lost that fear.

He came round at the appointed time, took out his jackknife, andsat down to his meal. He was full of plans "for his gentleman'scoming out strong, and like a gentleman," and urged me to beginspeedily upon the pocket-book which he had left in my possession.He considered the chambers and his own lodging as temporaryresidences, and advised me to look out at once for a "fashionablecrib" near Hyde Park, in which he could have "a shake-down." Whenhe had made an end of his breakfast, and was wiping his knife onhis leg, I said to him, without a word of preface,--

"After you were gone last night, I told my friend of the strugglethat the soldiers found you engaged in on the marshes, when we cameup. You remember?"

"Remember!" said he. "I think so!"

"We want to know something about that man--and about you. It isstrange to know no more about either, and particularly you, than Iwas able to tell last night. Is not this as good a time as anotherfor our knowing more?"

"As to anything I say, you know," he insisted. "The oath applies toall."

"I understand it to do so."

"And look'ee here! Wotever I done is worked out and paid for," heinsisted again.

"So be it."

He took out his black pipe and was going to fill it with negro-head,when, looking at the tangle of tobacco in his hand, he seemed tothink it might perplex the thread of his narrative. He put it backagain, stuck his pipe in a button-hole of his coat, spread a handon each knee, and after turning an angry eye on the fire for a fewsilent moments, looked round at us and said what follows.

Chapter XLII

"Dear boy and Pip's comrade. I am not a going fur to tell you mylife like a song, or a story-book. But to give it you short andhandy, I'll put it at once into a mouthful of English. In jail andout of jail, in jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail.There, you've got it. That's my life pretty much, down to such timesas I got shipped off, arter Pip stood my friend.

"I've been done everything to, pretty well--except hanged. I'vebeen locked up as much as a silver tea-kittle. I've been cartedhere and carted there, and put out of this town, and put out of thattown, and stuck in the stocks, and whipped and worried and drove.I've no more notion where I was born than you have--if so much. Ifirst become aware of myself down in Essex, a thieving turnips formy living. Summun had run away from me--a man--a tinker--andhe'd took the fire with him, and left me wery cold.

"I know'd my name to be Magwitch, chrisen'd Abel. How did I knowit? Much as I know'd the birds' names in the hedges to bechaffinch, sparrer, thrush. I might have thought it was all liestogether, only as the birds' names come out true, I supposed minedid.

"So fur as I could find, there warn't a soul that see young AbelMagwitch, with us little on him as in him, but wot caught fright athim, and either drove him off, or took him up. I was took up, tookup, took up, to that extent that I reg'larly grow'd up took up.

"This is the way it was, that when I was a ragged little creetur asmuch to be pitied as ever I see (not that I looked in the glass,for there warn't many insides of furnished houses known to me), Igot the name of being hardened. "This is a terrible hardened one,"they says to prison wisitors, picking out me. "May be said to livein jails, this boy. "Then they looked at me, and I looked at them,and they measured my head, some on 'em,--they had better a measuredmy stomach,--and others on 'em giv me tracts what I couldn't read,and made me speeches what I couldn't understand. They always wenton agen me about the Devil. But what the Devil was I to do? I mustput something into my stomach, mustn't I?--Howsomever, I'm agetting low, and I know what's due. Dear boy and Pip's comrade,don't you be afeerd of me being low.

"Tramping, begging, thieving, working sometimes when I could,--though that warn't as often as you may think, till you put thequestion whether you would ha' been over-ready to give me workyourselves,--a bit of a poacher, a bit of a laborer, a bit of awagoner, a bit of a haymaker, a bit of a hawker, a bit of mostthings that don't pay and lead to trouble, I got to be a man. Adeserting soldier in a Traveller's Rest, what lay hid up to thechin under a lot of taturs, learnt me to read; and a travellingGiant what signed his name at a penny a time learnt me to write. Iwarn't locked up as often now as formerly, but I wore out my goodshare of key-metal still.

"At Epsom races, a matter of over twenty years ago, I gotacquainted wi' a man whose skull I'd crack wi' this poker, like theclaw of a lobster, if I'd got it on this hob. His right name wasCompeyson; and that's the man, dear boy, what you see me a poundingin the ditch, according to what you truly told your comrade arter Iwas gone last night.

"He set up fur a gentleman, this Compeyson, and he'd been to apublic boarding-school and had learning. He was a smooth one totalk, and was a dab at the ways of gentlefolks. He was good-looking too. It was the night afore the great race, when Ifound him on the heath, in a booth that I know'd on. Him and somemore was a sitting among the tables when I went in, and thelandlord (which had a knowledge of me, and was a sporting one)called him out, and said, 'I think this is a man that might suityou,'--meaning I was.

"Compeyson, he looks at me very noticing, and I look at him. He hasa watch and a chain and a ring and a breast-pin and a handsome suitof clothes.

"'Yes, master, and I've never been in it much.' (I had come out ofKingston Jail last on a vagrancy committal. Not but what it mighthave been for something else; but it warn't.)

"'Luck changes,' says Compeyson; 'perhaps yours is going to change.'

"I says, 'I hope it may be so. There's room.'

"'What can you do?' says Compeyson.

"'Eat and drink,' I says; 'if you'll find the materials.'

"Compeyson laughed, looked at me again very noticing, giv me fiveshillings, and appointed me for next night. Same place.

"I went to Compeyson next night, same place, and Compeyson took meon to be his man and pardner. And what was Compeyson's business inwhich we was to go pardners? Compeyson's business was theswindling, handwriting forging, stolen bank-note passing, andsuch-like. All sorts of traps as Compeyson could set with his head,and keep his own legs out of and get the profits from and letanother man in for, was Compeyson's business. He'd no more heartthan a iron file, he was as cold as death, and he had the head ofthe Devil afore mentioned.

"There was another in with Compeyson, as was called Arthur,--not asbeing so chrisen'd, but as a surname. He was in a Decline, and wasa shadow to look at. Him and Compeyson had been in a bad thing witha rich lady some years afore, and they'd made a pot of money by it;but Compeyson betted and gamed, and he'd have run through theking's taxes. So, Arthur was a dying, and a dying poor and with thehorrors on him, and Compeyson's wife (which Compeyson kickedmostly) was a having pity on him when she could, and Compeyson wasa having pity on nothing and nobody.

"I might a took warning by Arthur, but I didn't; and I won'tpretend I was partick'ler--for where 'ud be the good on it, dearboy and comrade? So I begun wi' Compeyson, and a poor tool I was inhis hands. Arthur lived at the top of Compeyson's house (over nighBrentford it was), and Compeyson kept a careful account agen himfor board and lodging, in case he should ever get better to work itout. But Arthur soon settled the account. The second or third timeas ever I see him, he come a tearing down into Compeyson's parlorlate at night, in only a flannel gown, with his hair all in asweat, and he says to Compeyson's wife, 'Sally, she really isupstairs alonger me, now, and I can't get rid of her. She's all inwhite,' he says, 'wi' white flowers in her hair, and she's awfulmad, and she's got a shroud hanging over her arm, and she saysshe'll put it on me at five in the morning.'

"Says Compeyson: 'Why, you fool, don't you know she's got a livingbody? And how should she be up there, without coming through thedoor, or in at the window, and up the stairs?'

"'I don't know how she's there,' says Arthur, shivering dreadfulwith the horrors, 'but she's standing in the corner at the foot ofthe bed, awful mad. And over where her heart's broke--you brokeit!--there's drops of blood.'

"Compeyson spoke hardy, but he was always a coward. 'Go up alongerthis drivelling sick man,' he says to his wife, 'and Magwitch, lendher a hand, will you?' But he never come nigh himself.

"Compeyson's wife and me took him up to bed agen, and he raved mostdreadful. 'Why look at her!' he cries out. 'She's a shaking theshroud at me! Don't you see her? Look at her eyes! Ain't it awful tosee her so mad?' Next he cries, 'She'll put it on me, and then I'mdone for! Take it away from her, take it away!' And then he catchedhold of us, and kep on a talking to her, and answering of her, tillI half believed I see her myself.

"Compeyson's wife, being used to him, giv him some liquor to getthe horrors off, and by and by he quieted. 'O, she's gone! Has herkeeper been for her?' he says. 'Yes,' says Compeyson's wife. 'Didyou tell him to lock her and bar her in?' 'Yes.' 'And to take thatugly thing away from her?' 'Yes, yes, all right.' 'You're a goodcreetur,' he says, 'don't leave me, whatever you do, and thankyou!'

"He rested pretty quiet till it might want a few minutes of five,and then he starts up with a scream, and screams out, 'Here sheis! She's got the shroud again. She's unfolding it. She's coming outof the corner. She's coming to the bed. Hold me, both on you--oneof each side--don't let her touch me with it. Hah! she missed methat time. Don't let her throw it over my shoulders. Don't let herlift me up to get it round me. She's lifting me up. Keep me down!'Then he lifted himself up hard, and was dead.

"Compeyson took it easy as a good riddance for both sides. Him andme was soon busy, and first he swore me (being ever artful) on myown book,--this here little black book, dear boy, what I swore yourcomrade on.

"Not to go into the things that Compeyson planned, and I done--which 'ud take a week--I'll simply say to you, dear boy, and Pip'scomrade, that that man got me into such nets as made me his blackslave. I was always in debt to him, always under his thumb, alwaysa working, always a getting into danger. He was younger than me,but he'd got craft, and he'd got learning, and he overmatched mefive hundred times told and no mercy. My Missis as I had the hardtime wi'--Stop though! I ain't brought her in--"

He looked about him in a confused way, as if he had lost his placein the book of his remembrance; and he turned his face to the fire,and spread his hands broader on his knees, and lifted them off andput them on again.

"There ain't no need to go into it," he said, looking round oncemore. "The time wi' Compeyson was a'most as hard a time as ever Ihad; that said, all's said. Did I tell you as I was tried, alone,for misdemeanor, while with Compeyson?"

I answered, No.

"Well!" he said, "I was, and got convicted. As to took up onsuspicion, that was twice or three times in the four or five yearthat it lasted; but evidence was wanting. At last, me and Compeysonwas both committed for felony,--on a charge of putting stolen notesin circulation,--and there was other charges behind. Compeyson saysto me, 'Separate defences, no communication,' and that was all. AndI was so miserable poor, that I sold all the clothes I had, exceptwhat hung on my back, afore I could get Jaggers.

"When we was put in the dock, I noticed first of all what agentleman Compeyson looked, wi' his curly hair and his blackclothes and his white pocket-handkercher, and what a common sort ofa wretch I looked. When the prosecution opened and the evidence wasput short, aforehand, I noticed how heavy it all bore on me, andhow light on him. When the evidence was giv in the box, I noticedhow it was always me that had come for'ard, and could be swore to,how it was always me that the money had been paid to, how it wasalways me that had seemed to work the thing and get the profit.But when the defence come on, then I see the plan plainer; for,says the counsellor for Compeyson, 'My lord and gentlemen, here youhas afore you, side by side, two persons as your eyes can separatewide; one, the younger, well brought up, who will be spoke to assuch; one, the elder, ill brought up, who will be spoke to as such;one, the younger, seldom if ever seen in these here transactions,and only suspected; t'other, the elder, always seen in 'em andalways wi'his guilt brought home. Can you doubt, if there is butone in it, which is the one, and, if there is two in it, which ismuch the worst one?' And such-like. And when it come to character,warn't it Compeyson as had been to the school, and warn't it hisschoolfellows as was in this position and in that, and warn't ithim as had been know'd by witnesses in such clubs and societies,and nowt to his disadvantage? And warn't it me as had been triedafore, and as had been know'd up hill and down dale in Bridewellsand Lock-Ups! And when it come to speech-making, warn't itCompeyson as could speak to 'em wi' his face dropping every now andthen into his white pocket-handkercher,--ah! and wi' verses in hisspeech, too,--and warn't it me as could only say, 'Gentlemen, thisman at my side is a most precious rascal'? And when the verdictcome, warn't it Compeyson as was recommended to mercy on account ofgood character and bad company, and giving up all the informationhe could agen me, and warn't it me as got never a word but Guilty?And when I says to Compeyson, 'Once out of this court, I'll smashthat face of yourn!' ain't it Compeyson as prays the Judge to beprotected, and gets two turnkeys stood betwixt us? And when we'resentenced, ain't it him as gets seven year, and me fourteen, andain't it him as the Judge is sorry for, because he might a done sowell, and ain't it me as the Judge perceives to be a old offenderof wiolent passion, likely to come to worse?"

He had worked himself into a state of great excitement, but hechecked it, took two or three short breaths, swallowed as often,and stretching out his hand towards me said, in a reassuringmanner, "I ain't a going to be low, dear boy!"

He had so heated himself that he took out his handkerchief andwiped his face and head and neck and hands, before he could go on.

"I had said to Compeyson that I'd smash that face of his, and Iswore Lord smash mine! to do it. We was in the same prison-ship,but I couldn't get at him for long, though I tried. At last I comebehind him and hit him on the cheek to turn him round and get asmashing one at him, when I was seen and seized. The black-hole ofthat ship warn't a strong one, to a judge of black-holes that couldswim and dive. I escaped to the shore, and I was a hiding among thegraves there, envying them as was in 'em and all over, when I firstsee my boy!"

He regarded me with a look of affection that made him almostabhorrent to me again, though I had felt great pity for him.

"By my boy, I was giv to understand as Compeyson was out on themmarshes too. Upon my soul, I half believe he escaped in his terror,to get quit of me, not knowing it was me as had got ashore. Ihunted him down. I smashed his face. 'And now,' says I 'as theworst thing I can do, caring nothing for myself, I'll drag youback.' And I'd have swum off, towing him by the hair, if it hadcome to that, and I'd a got him aboard without the soldiers.

"Of course he'd much the best of it to the last,--his character wasso good. He had escaped when he was made half wild by me and mymurderous intentions; and his punishment was light. I was put inirons, brought to trial again, and sent for life. I didn't stop forlife, dear boy and Pip's comrade, being here."

"He wiped himself again, as he had done before, and then slowlytook his tangle of tobacco from his pocket, and plucked his pipefrom his button-hole, and slowly filled it, and began to smoke.

"Is he dead?" I asked, after a silence.

"Is who dead, dear boy?"

"Compeyson."

"He hopes I am, if he's alive, you may be sure," with a fiercelook. "I never heerd no more of him."

Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book. Hesoftly pushed the book over to me, as Provis stood smoking with hiseyes on the fire, and I read in it:--

"Young Havisham's name was Arthur. Compeyson is the man whoprofessed to be Miss Havisham's lover."

I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert, and put the bookby; but we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provisas he stood smoking by the fire.

Chapter XLIII

Why should I pause to ask how much of my shrinking from Provismight be traced to Estella? Why should I loiter on my road, tocompare the state of mind in which I had tried to rid myself of thestain of the prison before meeting her at the coach-office, withthe state of mind in which I now reflected on the abyss betweenEstella in her pride and beauty, and the returned transport whom Iharbored? The road would be none the smoother for it, the endwould be none the better for it, he would not be helped, nor Iextenuated.

A new fear had been engendered in my mind by his narrative; orrather, his narrative had given form and purpose to the fear thatwas already there. If Compeyson were alive and should discover hisreturn, I could hardly doubt the consequence. That, Compeyson stoodin mortal fear of him, neither of the two could know much betterthan I; and that any such man as that man had been described tobe would hesitate to release himself for good from a dreaded enemyby the safe means of becoming an informer was scarcely to beimagined.

Never had I breathed, and never would I breathe--or so I resolved--a word of Estella to Provis. But, I said to Herbert that, before Icould go abroad, I must see both Estella and Miss Havisham. Thiswas when we were left alone on the night of the day when Provistold us his story. I resolved to go out to Richmond next day, and Iwent.

On my presenting myself at Mrs. Brandley's, Estella's maid wascalled to tell that Estella had gone into the country. Where? ToSatis House, as usual. Not as usual, I said, for she had never yetgone there without me; when was she coming back? There was an airof reservation in the answer which increased my perplexity, and theanswer was, that her maid believed she was only coming back at allfor a little while. I could make nothing of this, except that itwas meant that I should make nothing of it, and I went home againin complete discomfiture.

Another night consultation with Herbert after Provis was gone home(I always took him home, and always looked well about me), led usto the conclusion that nothing should be said about going abroaduntil I came back from Miss Havisham's. In the mean time, Herbertand I were to consider separately what it would be best to say;whether we should devise any pretence of being afraid that he wasunder suspicious observation; or whether I, who had never yet beenabroad, should propose an expedition. We both knew that I had butto propose anything, and he would consent. We agreed that hisremaining many days in his present hazard was not to be thought of.

Next day I had the meanness to feign that I was under a bindingpromise to go down to Joe; but I was capable of almost any meannesstowards Joe or his name. Provis was to be strictly careful while Iwas gone, and Herbert was to take the charge of him that I hadtaken. I was to be absent only one night, and, on my return, thegratification of his impatience for my starting as a gentleman on agreater scale was to be begun. It occurred to me then, and as Iafterwards found to Herbert also, that he might be best got awayacross the water, on that pretence,--as, to make purchases, or thelike.

Having thus cleared the way for my expedition to Miss Havisham's, Iset off by the early morning coach before it was yet light, and wasout on the open country road when the day came creeping on, haltingand whimpering and shivering, and wrapped in patches of cloud andrags of mist, like a beggar. When we drove up to the Blue Boarafter a drizzly ride, whom should I see come out under the gateway,toothpick in hand, to look at the coach, but Bentley Drummle!

As he pretended not to see me, I pretended not to see him. It was avery lame pretence on both sides; the lamer, because we both wentinto the coffee-room, where he had just finished his breakfast, andwhere I ordered mine. It was poisonous to me to see him in thetown, for I very well knew why he had come there.

Pretending to read a smeary newspaper long out of date, which hadnothing half so legible in its local news, as the foreign matter ofcoffee, pickles, fish sauces, gravy, melted butter, and wine withwhich it was sprinkled all over, as if it had taken the measles ina highly irregular form, I sat at my table while he stood beforethe fire. By degrees it became an enormous injury to me that hestood before the fire. And I got up, determined to have my share ofit. I had to put my hand behind his legs for the poker when I wentup to the fireplace to stir the fire, but still pretended not toknow him.

"Is this a cut?" said Mr. Drummle.

"Oh!" said I, poker in hand; "it's you, is it? How do you do? I waswondering who it was, who kept the fire off."

With that, I poked tremendously, and having done so, planted myselfside by side with Mr. Drummle, my shoulders squared and my back tothe fire.

"You have just come down?" said Mr. Drummle, edging me a little awaywith his shoulder.

"Yes," said I, edging him a little away with my shoulder.

"Beastly place," said Drummle. "Your part of the country, Ithink?"

"Yes," I assented. "I am told it's very like your Shropshire."

"Not in the least like it," said Drummle.

Here Mr. Drummle looked at his boots and I looked at mine, and thenMr. Drummle looked at my boots, and I looked at his.

"Have you been here long?" I asked, determined not to yield an inchof the fire.

"Long enough to be tired of it," returned Drummle, pretending toyawn, but equally determined.

"Do you stay here long?"

"Can't say," answered Mr. Drummle. "Do you?"

"Can't say," said I.

I felt here, through a tingling in my blood, that if Mr. Drummle'sshoulder had claimed another hair's breadth of room, I should havejerked him into the window; equally, that if my own shoulder hadurged a similar claim, Mr. Drummle would have jerked me into thenearest box. He whistled a little. So did I.

"Large tract of marshes about here, I believe?" said Drummle.

"Yes. What of that?" said I.

Mr. Drummle looked at me, and then at my boots, and then said, "Oh!"and laughed.

"Are you amused, Mr. Drummle?"

"No," said he, "not particularly. I am going out for a ride in thesaddle. I mean to explore those marshes for amusement.Out-of-the-way villages there, they tell me. Curious littlepublic-houses--and smithies--and that. Waiter!"

Then, Drummle glanced at me, with an insolent triumph on hisgreat-jowled face that cut me to the heart, dull as he was, and soexasperated me, that I felt inclined to take him in my arms (as therobber in the story-book is said to have taken the old lady) andseat him on the fire.

One thing was manifest to both of us, and that was, that untilrelief came, neither of us could relinquish the fire. There westood, well squared up before it, shoulder to shoulder and foot tofoot, with our hands behind us, not budging an inch. The horse wasvisible outside in the drizzle at the door, my breakfast was put onthe table, Drummle's was cleared away, the waiter invited me tobegin, I nodded, we both stood our ground.

"Have you been to the Grove since?" said Drummle.

"No," said I, "I had quite enough of the Finches the last time Iwas there."

"Was that when we had a difference of opinion?"

"Yes," I replied, very shortly.

"Come, come! They let you off easily enough," sneered Drummle. "Youshouldn't have lost your temper."

"Mr. Drummle," said I, "you are not competent to give advice on thatsubject. When I lose my temper (not that I admit having done so onthat occasion), I don't throw glasses."

"I do," said Drummle.

After glancing at him once or twice, in an increased state ofsmouldering ferocity, I said,--

"Mr. Drummle, I did not seek this conversation, and I don't think itan agreeable one."

"And therefore," I went on, "with your leave, I will suggest thatwe hold no kind of communication in future."

"Quite my opinion," said Drummle, "and what I should have suggestedmyself, or done--more likely--without suggesting. But don't loseyour temper. Haven't you lost enough without that?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Waiter!," said Drummle, by way of answering me.

The waiter reappeared.

"Look here, you sir. You quite understand that the young lady don'tride to-day, and that I dine at the young lady's?"

"Quite so, sir!"

When the waiter had felt my fast-cooling teapot with the palm ofhis hand, and had looked imploringly at me, and had gone out,Drummle, careful not to move the shoulder next me, took a cigarfrom his pocket and bit the end off, but showed no sign ofstirring. Choking and boiling as I was, I felt that we could not goa word further, without introducing Estella's name, which I couldnot endure to hear him utter; and therefore I looked stonily at theopposite wall, as if there were no one present, and forced myselfto silence. How long we might have remained in this ridiculousposition it is impossible to say, but for the incursion of threethriving farmers--laid on by the waiter, I think--who came intothe coffee-room unbuttoning their great-coats and rubbing theirhands, and before whom, as they charged at the fire, we wereobliged to give way.

I saw him through the window, seizing his horse's mane, andmounting in his blundering brutal manner, and sidling and backingaway. I thought he was gone, when he came back, calling for a lightfor the cigar in his mouth, which he had forgotten. A man in adust-colored dress appeared with what was wanted,--I could not havesaid from where: whether from the inn yard, or the street, or wherenot,--and as Drummle leaned down from the saddle and lighted hiscigar and laughed, with a jerk of his head towards the coffee-roomwindows, the slouching shoulders and ragged hair of this man whoseback was towards me reminded me of Orlick.

Too heavily out of sorts to care much at the time whether it werehe or no, or after all to touch the breakfast, I washed the weatherand the journey from my face and hands, and went out to thememorable old house that it would have been so much the better forme never to have entered, never to have seen.

Chapter XLIV

In the room where the dressing-table stood, and where the wax-candles burnt on the wall, I found Miss Havisham and Estella; MissHavisham seated on a settee near the fire, and Estella on a cushionat her feet. Estella was knitting, and Miss Havisham was lookingon. They both raised their eyes as I went in, and both saw analteration in me. I derived that, from the look they interchanged.

"And what wind," said Miss Havisham, "blows you here, Pip?"

Though she looked steadily at me, I saw that she was ratherconfused. Estella, pausing a moment in her knitting with her eyesupon me, and then going on, I fancied that I read in the action ofher fingers, as plainly as if she had told me in the dumb alphabet,that she perceived I had discovered my real benefactor.

"Miss Havisham," said I, "I went to Richmond yesterday, to speak toEstella; and finding that some wind had blown her here, Ifollowed."

Miss Havisham motioning to me for the third or fourth time to sitdown, I took the chair by the dressing-table, which I had oftenseen her occupy. With all that ruin at my feet and about me, itseemed a natural place for me, that day.

"What I had to say to Estella, Miss Havisham, I will say beforeyou, presently--in a few moments. It will not surprise you, itwill not displease you. I am as unhappy as you can ever have meantme to be."

Miss Havisham continued to look steadily at me. I could see in theaction of Estella's fingers as they worked that she attended towhat I said; but she did not look up.

"I have found out who my patron is. It is not a fortunatediscovery, and is not likely ever to enrich me in reputation,station, fortune, anything. There are reasons why I must say nomore of that. It is not my secret, but another's."

As I was silent for a while, looking at Estella and considering howto go on, Miss Havisham repeated, "It is not your secret, butanother's. Well?"

"When you first caused me to be brought here, Miss Havisham, when Ibelonged to the village over yonder, that I wish I had never left,I suppose I did really come here, as any other chance boy mighthave come,--as a kind of servant, to gratify a want or a whim, andto be paid for it?"

"Mr. Jaggers," said Miss Havisham, taking me up in a firm tone, "hadnothing to do with it, and knew nothing of it. His being my lawyer,and his being the lawyer of your patron is a coincidence. He holdsthe same relation towards numbers of people, and it might easilyarise. Be that as it may, it did arise, and was not brought aboutby any one."

Any one might have seen in her haggard face that there was nosuppression or evasion so far.

"But when I fell into the mistake I have so long remained in, atleast you led me on?" said I.

"Yes," she returned, again nodding steadily, "I let you go on."

"Was that kind?"

"Who am I," cried Miss Havisham, striking her stick upon the floorand flashing into wrath so suddenly that Estella glanced up at herin surprise,--"who am I, for God's sake, that I should be kind?"

It was a weak complaint to have made, and I had not meant to makeit. I told her so, as she sat brooding after this outburst.

"Well, well, well!" she said. "What else?"

"I was liberally paid for my old attendance here," I said, tosoothe her, "in being apprenticed, and I have asked these questionsonly for my own information. What follows has another (and I hopemore disinterested) purpose. In humoring my mistake, MissHavisham, you punished--practised on--perhaps you will supplywhatever term expresses your intention, without offence--yourself-seeking relations?"

"I did. Why, they would have it so! So would you. What has been myhistory, that I should be at the pains of entreating either themor you not to have it so! You made your own snares. I never madethem."

Waiting until she was quiet again,--for this, too, flashed out ofher in a wild and sudden way,--I went on.

"I have been thrown among one family of your relations, MissHavisham, and have been constantly among them since I went toLondon. I know them to have been as honestly under my delusion as Imyself. And I should be false and base if I did not tell you,whether it is acceptable to you or no, and whether you are inclinedto give credence to it or no, that you deeply wrong both Mr. MatthewPocket and his son Herbert, if you suppose them to be otherwisethan generous, upright, open, and incapable of anything designingor mean."

"They are your friends," said Miss Havisham.

"They made themselves my friends," said I, "when they supposed meto have superseded them; and when Sarah Pocket, Miss Georgiana, andMistress Camilla were not my friends, I think."

This contrasting of them with the rest seemed, I was glad to see,to do them good with her. She looked at me keenly for a littlewhile, and then said quietly,--

"What do you want for them?"

"Only," said I, "that you would not confound them with the others.They may be of the same blood, but, believe me, they are not of thesame nature."

Still looking at me keenly, Miss Havisham repeated,--

"What do you want for them?"

"I am not so cunning, you see," I said, in answer, conscious that Ireddened a little, "as that I could hide from you, even if Idesired, that I do want something. Miss Havisham, if you wouldspare the money to do my friend Herbert a lasting service in life,but which from the nature of the case must be done without hisknowledge, I could show you how."

"Why must it be done without his knowledge?" she asked, settlingher hands upon her stick, that she might regard me the moreattentively.

"Because," said I, "I began the service myself, more than two yearsago, without his knowledge, and I don't want to be betrayed. Why Ifail in my ability to finish it, I cannot explain. It is a part ofthe secret which is another person's and not mine."

She gradually withdrew her eyes from me, and turned them on thefire. After watching it for what appeared in the silence and by thelight of the slowly wasting candles to be a long time, she wasroused by the collapse of some of the red coals, and looked towardsme again--at first, vacantly--then, with a graduallyconcentrating attention. All this time Estella knitted on. WhenMiss Havisham had fixed her attention on me, she said, speaking asif there had been no lapse in our dialogue,--

"What else?"

"Estella," said I, turning to her now, and trying to command mytrembling voice, "you know I love you. You know that I have lovedyou long and dearly."

She raised her eyes to my face, on being thus addressed, and herfingers plied their work, and she looked at me with an unmovedcountenance. I saw that Miss Havisham glanced from me to her, andfrom her to me.

"I should have said this sooner, but for my long mistake. Itinduced me to hope that Miss Havisham meant us for one another.While I thought you could not help yourself, as it were, Irefrained from saying it. But I must say it now."

Preserving her unmoved countenance, and with her fingers stillgoing, Estella shook her head.

"I know," said I, in answer to that action,--"I know. I have no hopethat I shall ever call you mine, Estella. I am ignorant what maybecome of me very soon, how poor I may be, or where I may go.Still, I love you. I have loved you ever since I first saw you inthis house."

Looking at me perfectly unmoved and with her fingers busy, sheshook her head again.

"It would have been cruel in Miss Havisham, horribly cruel, topractise on the susceptibility of a poor boy, and to torture methrough all these years with a vain hope and an idle pursuit, ifshe had reflected on the gravity of what she did. But I think shedid not. I think that, in the endurance of her own trial, she forgotmine, Estella."

I saw Miss Havisham put her hand to her heart and hold it there, asshe sat looking by turns at Estella and at me.

"It seems," said Estella, very calmly, "that there are sentiments,fancies,--I don't know how to call them,--which I am not able tocomprehend. When you say you love me, I know what you mean, as aform of words; but nothing more. You address nothing in my breast,you touch nothing there. I don't care for what you say at all. Ihave tried to warn you of this; now, have I not?"

I said in a miserable manner, "Yes."

"Yes. But you would not be warned, for you thought I did not meanit. Now, did you not think so?"

"I thought and hoped you could not mean it. You, so young, untried,and beautiful, Estella! Surely it is not in Nature."

"It is in my nature," she returned. And then she added, with astress upon the words, "It is in the nature formed within me. Imake a great difference between you and all other people when I sayso much. I can do no more."

"Is it not true," said I, "that Bentley Drummle is in town here,and pursuing you?"

"It is quite true," she replied, referring to him with theindifference of utter contempt.

"That you encourage him, and ride out with him, and that he dineswith you this very day?"

She seemed a little surprised that I should know it, but againreplied, "Quite true."

"You cannot love him, Estella!"

Her fingers stopped for the first time, as she retorted ratherangrily, "What have I told you? Do you still think, in spite of it,that I do not mean what I say?"

"You would never marry him, Estella?"

She looked towards Miss Havisham, and considered for a moment withher work in her hands. Then she said, "Why not tell you the truth?I am going to be married to him."

I dropped my face into my hands, but was able to control myselfbetter than I could have expected, considering what agony it gaveme to hear her say those words. When I raised my face again, therewas such a ghastly look upon Miss Havisham's, that it impressed me,even in my passionate hurry and grief.

"Estella, dearest Estella, do not let Miss Havisham leadyou into this fatal step. Put me aside for ever,--you have done so,I well know,--but bestow yourself on some worthier person thanDrummle. Miss Havisham gives you to him, as the greatest slight andinjury that could be done to the many far better men who admireyou, and to the few who truly love you. Among those few there maybe one who loves you even as dearly, though he has not loved you aslong, as I. Take him, and I can bear it better, for your sake!"

My earnestness awoke a wonder in her that seemed as if it wouldhave been touched with compassion, if she could have rendered me atall intelligible to her own mind.

"I am going," she said again, in a gentler voice, "to be married tohim. The preparations for my marriage are making, and I shall bemarried soon. Why do you injuriously introduce the name of mymother by adoption? It is my own act."

"Your own act, Estella, to fling yourself away upon a brute?"

"On whom should I fling myself away?" she retorted, with a smile."Should I fling myself away upon the man who would the soonest feel(if people do feel such things) that I took nothing to him? There!It is done. I shall do well enough, and so will my husband. As toleading me into what you call this fatal step, Miss Havisham wouldhave had me wait, and not marry yet; but I am tired of the life Ihave led, which has very few charms for me, and I am willing enoughto change it. Say no more. We shall never understand each other."

"Such a mean brute, such a stupid brute!" I urged, in despair.

"Don't be afraid of my being a blessing to him," said Estella; "Ishall not be that. Come! Here is my hand. Do we part on this, youvisionary boy--or man?"

"O Estella!" I answered, as my bitter tears fell fast on her hand,do what I would to restrain them; "even if I remained in Englandand could hold my head up with the rest, how could I see youDrummle's wife?"

"Nonsense," she returned,--"nonsense. This will pass in no time."

"Never, Estella!"

"You will get me out of your thoughts in a week."

"Out of my thoughts! You are part of my existence, part of myself.You have been in every line I have ever read since I first camehere, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then.You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since,--on theriver, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, inthe light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea,in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every gracefulfancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones ofwhich the strongest London buildings are made are not more real,or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than yourpresence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, andwill be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choosebut remain part of my character, part of the little good in me,part of the evil. But, in this separation, I associate you only withthe good; and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for youmust have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now whatsharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!"

In what ecstasy of unhappiness I got these broken words out ofmyself, I don't know. The rhapsody welled up within me, like bloodfrom an inward wound, and gushed out. I held her hand to my lipssome lingering moments, and so I left her. But ever afterwards, Iremembered,--and soon afterwards with stronger reason,--that whileEstella looked at me merely with incredulous wonder, the spectralfigure of Miss Havisham, her hand still covering her heart, seemedall resolved into a ghastly stare of pity and remorse.

All done, all gone! So much was done and gone, that when I went outat the gate, the light of the day seemed of a darker color thanwhen I went in. For a while, I hid myself among some lanes andby-paths, and then struck off to walk all the way to London. For, Ihad by that time come to myself so far as to consider that I couldnot go back to the inn and see Drummle there; that I could not bearto sit upon the coach and be spoken to; that I could do nothinghalf so good for myself as tire myself out.

It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge. Pursuing thenarrow intricacies of the streets which at that time tendedwestward near the Middlesex shore of the river, my readiest accessto the Temple was close by the river-side, through Whitefriars. Iwas not expected till to-morrow; but I had my keys, and, if Herbertwere gone to bed, could get to bed myself without disturbing him.

As it seldom happened that I came in at that Whitefriars gate afterthe Temple was closed, and as I was very muddy and weary, I did nottake it ill that the night-porter examined me with much attentionas he held the gate a little way open for me to pass in. To helphis memory I mentioned my name.

"I was not quite sure, sir, but I thought so. Here's a note, sir.The messenger that brought it, said would you be so good as read itby my lantern?"

Much surprised by the request, I took the note. It was directed toPhilip Pip, Esquire, and on the top of the superscription were thewords, "PLEASE READ THIS, HERE." I opened it, the watchman holdingup his light, and read inside, in Wemmick's writing,--

"DON'T GO HOME."

Chapter XLV

Turning from the Temple gate as soon as I had read the warning, Imade the best of my way to Fleet Street, and there got a latehackney chariot and drove to the Hummums in Covent Garden. In thosetimes a bed was always to be got there at any hour of the night,and the chamberlain, letting me in at his ready wicket, lighted thecandle next in order on his shelf, and showed me straight into thebedroom next in order on his list. It was a sort of vault on theground floor at the back, with a despotic monster of a four-postbedstead in it, straddling over the whole place, putting one of hisarbitrary legs into the fireplace and another into the doorway,and squeezing the wretched little washing-stand in quite a DivinelyRighteous manner.

As I had asked for a night-light, the chamberlain had brought mein, before he left me, the good old constitutional rushlight ofthose virtuous days.--an object like the ghost of a walking-cane,which instantly broke its back if it were touched, which nothingcould ever be lighted at, and which was placed in solitaryconfinement at the bottom of a high tin tower, perforated withround holes that made a staringly wide-awake pattern on the walls.When I had got into bed, and lay there footsore, weary, andwretched, I found that I could no more close my own eyes than Icould close the eyes of this foolish Argus. And thus, in the gloomand death of the night, we stared at one another.

What a doleful night! How anxious, how dismal, how long! There wasan inhospitable smell in the room, of cold soot and hot dust; and,as I looked up into the corners of the tester over my head, Ithought what a number of blue-bottle flies from the butchers', andearwigs from the market, and grubs from the country, must beholding on up there, lying by for next summer. This led me tospeculate whether any of them ever tumbled down, and then I fanciedthat I felt light falls on my face,--a disagreeable turn of thought,suggesting other and more objectionable approaches up my back. WhenI had lain awake a little while, those extraordinary voices withwhich silence teems began to make themselves audible. The closetwhispered, the fireplace sighed, the little washing-stand ticked,and one guitar-string played occasionally in the chest of drawers.At about the same time, the eyes on the wall acquired a newexpression, and in every one of those staring rounds I sawwritten, DON'T GO HOME.

Whatever night-fancies and night-noises crowded on me, they neverwarded off this DON'T GO HOME. It plaited itself into whatever Ithought of, as a bodily pain would have done. Not long before, Ihad read in the newspapers, how a gentleman unknown had come to theHummums in the night, and had gone to bed, and had destroyedhimself, and had been found in the morning weltering in blood. Itcame into my head that he must have occupied this very vault ofmine, and I got out of bed to assure myself that there were no redmarks about; then opened the door to look out into the passages,and cheer myself with the companionship of a distant light, nearwhich I knew the chamberlain to be dozing. But all this time, why Iwas not to go home, and what had happened at home, and when Ishould go home, and whether Provis was safe at home, were questionsoccupying my mind so busily, that one might have supposed therecould be no more room in it for any other theme. Even when Ithought of Estella, and how we had parted that day forever, andwhen I recalled all the circumstances of our parting, and all herlooks and tones, and the action of her fingers while she knitted,--even then I was pursuing, here and there and everywhere, thecaution, Don't go home. When at last I dozed, in sheer exhaustion ofmind and body, it became a vast shadowy verb which I had toconjugate. Imperative mood, present tense: Do not thou go home, lethim not go home, let us not go home, do not ye or you go home, letnot them go home. Then potentially: I may not and I cannot gohome; and I might not, could not, would not, and should not gohome; until I felt that I was going distracted, and rolled over onthe pillow, and looked at the staring rounds upon the wall again.

I had left directions that I was to be called at seven; for it wasplain that I must see Wemmick before seeing any one else, andequally plain that this was a case in which his Walworthsentiments only could be taken. It was a relief to get out of theroom where the night had been so miserable, and I needed no secondknocking at the door to startle me from my uneasy bed.

The Castle battlements arose upon my view at eight o'clock. Thelittle servant happening to be entering the fortress with two hotrolls, I passed through the postern and crossed the drawbridge inher company, and so came without announcement into the presence ofWemmick as he was making tea for himself and the Aged. An open doorafforded a perspective view of the Aged in bed.

"Halloa, Mr. Pip!" said Wemmick. "You did come home, then?"

"Yes," I returned; "but I didn't go home."

"That's all right," said he, rubbing his hands. "I left a note foryou at each of the Temple gates, on the chance. Which gate did youcome to?"

I told him.

"I'll go round to the others in the course of the day and destroythe notes," said Wemmick; "it's a good rule never to leavedocumentary evidence if you can help it, because you don't knowwhen it may be put in. I'm going to take a liberty with you. Would you mind toasting this sausage for the Aged P.?"

I said I should be delighted to do it.

"Then you can go about your work, Mary Anne," said Wemmick to thelittle servant; "which leaves us to ourselves, don't you see, Mr.Pip?" he added, winking, as she disappeared.

I thanked him for his friendship and caution, and our discourseproceeded in a low tone, while I toasted the Aged's sausage and hebuttered the crumb of the Aged's roll.

"Now, Mr. Pip, you know," said Wemmick, "you and I understand oneanother. We are in our private and personal capacities, and we havebeen engaged in a confidential transaction before to-day. Officialsentiments are one thing. We are extra official."

I cordially assented. I was so very nervous, that I had alreadylighted the Aged's sausage like a torch, and been obliged to blowit out.

"I accidentally heard, yesterday morning," said Wemmick, "being ina certain place where I once took you,--even between you and me,it's as well not to mention names when avoidable--"

"Much better not," said I. "I understand you."

"I heard there by chance, yesterday morning," said Wemmick, "that acertain person not altogether of uncolonial pursuits, and notunpossessed of portable property,--I don't know who it may reallybe,--we won't name this person--"

"Not necessary," said I.

"--Had made some little stir in a certain part of the world wherea good many people go, not always in gratification of their owninclinations, and not quite irrespective of the governmentexpense--"

In watching his face, I made quite a firework of the Aged'ssausage, and greatly discomposed both my own attention andWemmick's; for which I apologized.

"--By disappearing from such place, and being no more heard ofthereabouts. From which," said Wemmick, "conjectures had beenraised and theories formed. I also heard that you at your chambersin Garden Court, Temple, had been watched, and might be watchedagain."

"By whom?" said I.

"I wouldn't go into that," said Wemmick, evasively, "it might clashwith official responsibilities. I heard it, as I have in my timeheard other curious things in the same place. I don't tell it youon information received. I heard it."

He took the toasting-fork and sausage from me as he spoke, and setforth the Aged's breakfast neatly on a little tray. Previous toplacing it before him, he went into the Aged's room with a cleanwhite cloth, and tied the same under the old gentleman's chin, andpropped him up, and put his nightcap on one side, and gave himquite a rakish air. Then he placed his breakfast before him withgreat care, and said, "All right, ain't you, Aged P.?" To which thecheerful Aged replied, "All right, John, my boy, all right!" Asthere seemed to be a tacit understanding that the Aged was not in apresentable state, and was therefore to be considered invisible, Imade a pretence of being in complete ignorance of theseproceedings.

"This watching of me at my chambers (which I have once had reasonto suspect)," I said to Wemmick when he came back, "is inseparablefrom the person to whom you have adverted; is it?"

Wemmick looked very serious. "I couldn't undertake to say that, ofmy own knowledge. I mean, I couldn't undertake to say it was atfirst. But it either is, or it will be, or it's in great danger ofbeing."

As I saw that he was restrained by fealty to Little Britain fromsaying as much as he could, and as I knew with thankfulness to himhow far out of his way he went to say what he did, I could notpress him. But I told him, after a little meditation over the fire,that I would like to ask him a question, subject to his answeringor not answering, as he deemed right, and sure that his coursewould be right. He paused in his breakfast, and crossing his arms,and pinching his shirt-sleeves (his notion of in-door comfort was tosit without any coat), he nodded to me once, to put my question.

"You have heard of a man of bad character, whose true name isCompeyson?"

He answered with one other nod.

"Is he living?"

One other nod.

"Is he in London?"

He gave me one other nod, compressed the post-office exceedingly,gave me one last nod, and went on with his breakfast.

"Now," said Wemmick, "questioning being over," which he emphasizedand repeated for my guidance, "I come to what I did, after hearingwhat I heard. I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you,I went to Clarriker's to find Mr. Herbert."

"And him you found?" said I, with great anxiety.

"And him I found. Without mentioning any names or going into anydetails, I gave him to understand that if he was aware of anybody--Tom, Jack, or Richard--being about the chambers, or about theimmediate neighborhood, he had better get Tom, Jack, or Richardout of the way while you were out of the way."

"He would be greatly puzzled what to do?"

"He was puzzled what to do; not the less, because I gave him myopinion that it was not safe to try to get Tom, Jack, or Richardtoo far out of the way at present. Mr. Pip, I'll tell you something.Under existing circumstances, there is no place like a great citywhen you are once in it. Don't break cover too soon. Lie close.Wait till things slacken, before you try the open, even for foreignair."

I thanked him for his valuable advice, and asked him what Herberthad done?

"Mr. Herbert," said Wemmick, "after being all of a heap for half anhour, struck out a plan. He mentioned to me as a secret, that he iscourting a young lady who has, as no doubt you are aware, abedridden Pa. Which Pa, having been in the Purser line of life,lies a-bed in a bow-window where he can see the ships sail up anddown the river. You are acquainted with the young lady, mostprobably?"